


Caged Thought

by tzigane, Zaganthi (Caffiends)



Series: Grey Matter [2]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Kink Bingo 2013, M/M, Master/Slave, Mind Control, wetwiring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-28
Updated: 2013-10-28
Packaged: 2017-12-30 16:54:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1021105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tzigane/pseuds/tzigane, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caffiends/pseuds/Zaganthi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was unrealistic, though. Hannibal, even if they had perfectly cored his brain and reduced him down to something controllable, wasn't predictable. Whatever had been a man had been dead since childhood, and wet wiring was designed to fix a man's problems. A human's problems.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Caged Thought

**Author's Note:**

> My two co authors humor me when I want to write the same thing twice; another version of [Under you Skin.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1021266)

There were bad ideas, and then, there were bad ideas. Will liked to think he was a gourmand of bad ideas, cultivating them like a fine whiskey, aged appropriately first in the barrel of his head. Compared and jumbled up against his memories and his hideous ability to imagine and take things those next five steps forward.

There were only so many ways that taking Hannibal home from the mental ward was going to go.

They had warned him of a variety of things, issues that might arise, things that might happen. There were visible spots in his skull with raw wounds, the soft open holes where they had gone inside and made the... appropriate changes were still there, unattractive, but present, scarring over steadily. The other scars, well.

He knew enough about wound care, knew enough about how to keep living, that it didn't concern him. But he'd chosen to take on the risk and the burden and the direction, so now it was just a waiting game. His house was clean, the dogs were calm, well fed, and things were as stable as they could be for this adjustment period. Where Hannibal would be under mental adjustment for once.

Will leant back in his chair, and waited.

The instructions hadn't been difficult, considering the sheer complexity of the thing. He knew that it was presented in that manner to keep buyers happy, particularly the ones with... less complex abilities.

It was unrealistic, though. Hannibal, even if they had perfectly cored his brain and reduced him down to something controllable, wasn't predictable. Whatever had been a man had been dead since childhood, and wet wiring was designed to fix a man's problems. A human's problems.

Hannibal was anything but fixable.

They had said that he would be slow to wake; be groggy and unlikely to do more than roll about and make little sense for a day or so. Will had known that wouldn't be true, and so the steady weight of dark eyes upon him was no shock.

"Hello, Hannibal." He smiled, watching him, tallying the damage wrought over and over, physical being the most easy to pluck from the air, to catalogue and note. The marks, the shaved head, the excessive scarring that indicated they had done a rough job of it.

It had certainly taken them a while to reach a point where they thought it might be safer to do the wetwiring. The scars were simply a sign that it had taken them too long to reach that point. "Hello, Will."

"How do you feel?" He had coffee on, and bruschetta warm in the oven, safe away from the dogs, which made the house smell delicious, warm bread and olive oil.

"Is that really the question you want to ask?" Question with a question, and he could adjust that.

Just thinking about it made him hard. He could adjust that, he could control that, he could do whatever he wanted to do, to that and Hannibal's head. For just fucking once. For just fucking once he was in control. "I do."

That earned him something like a smile. "Then I suppose the truth is that I feel terrible."

"It's a start. Hungry?" He was lying still, conserving energy, conserving, hmn, hiding what was wrong, perhaps? Hiding from Will, and that wasn't going to be allowed. It simply wasn't.

"I suppose I could be. I must admit, that does smell a great deal better than the food where I have been."

"Sit up and let's go get food, then. It's closer to dinner, but I thought something light was better." He hummed low in his throat, watching still.

It was incredibly pleasing to watch Hannibal move as soon as he said the words, to watch him sit up, automatic obeisance, and fuck. His balls ached in response, his dick was already hard and heavy in a way it hadn't been since everything had gone to hell. At Hannibal's command. "How did that feel?"

Flat gaze, dark and eyeing him with something that wasn't immediately discernible. Not betrayal but.... Something. "Quite odd."

"Thought it'd be nice to share a feeling I'm very familiar with." He stood slowly, moved to help Hannibal up now if he wanted to move.

One hand reached up and touched his arm for support, and he could see the weakness that had been mentioned in the records. "Mmm. Yes. I can see that." Fuck, but just thinking about it made him want to give some sort of direction again.

He'd wait, keep it subtle enough, because what portions of daily conversation didn't involve gentle direction? "It's not really nice at all," Will hummed. Infinitely familiar, and such a thrill. It had to be at least as good as he might get from killing, and that was for the best.

Stopgap, maybe. He'd take stopgap, and the way that Hannibal looked at him said Things. Said he knew. Said he was going to understand intimately before everything was said and done.

This was going to be fucking fantastic.


End file.
